n:: 



! i 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap aopyrio-ht i\o. 

SliPlf ^ '^ » 



81ielf._ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



AN AUTUMN LANE 



•» 






f 

# 




AN AUTUMN LANE 
AND OTHER POEMS 



i/ 
BY WILL T. HALE 



nashville, tenn. dallas, tex. 

Publishing House M. E. Church, South 
barbee & smith, agents 

1899 



80484 



Libparv of Congress 

Iwo Copies Receivfo 
NOV 26 1900 

H.A^.9..7J. 

SECOWD COPY 

tWIvwed to 

ORO£R DIVISION 

DEC 10l9Q (j 



Ts 3rir 

I s^ ^ 



Copyright, 1899 

BY 

Barbee & Smith, Agents 



TO DAVID RANKIN BARBEE 



CONTENTS. 

Pao^e 

An Autumn Lane 13 

Priscilla 18 

A Lazy Old Dreamer .20 

Silence .22 

The Children ... ...... 23 

Vanity 24 

Conceited Neighbor Dicej ....... 26 

Great Sovils 29 

A Thanksgiving Song 31 

The Embalmer 33 

A Veteran's Recollections 34 

When the Quails Called in the Wheat .... 36 

Clara Barton in Armenia 39 

"Al'ajs Behind "... .40 

Do You Care? 42 

Baby's Praj-er . .^4 

The Warning of Time ........ 45 

In Winter 48 

Origin of Thanksgiving 49 

Indian Summer 53 

9 



CONTENTS. 

A Petition ^2 

The Preacher ,5^ 

A Tjpe and an Application 56 

Margaret ^8 

A Dream of Spring 60 

Christmas Bells 61 

The Bridge 63 

The Dress 64 

A Song of Patriotism 66 

The Letter 67 

Inhumanity 68 

Threnody 69 

It May Be 70 

A Scientific Question 71 

The Snow 72 

The Little Portrait 73 

The Difference yr 

A Trackless Territory 76 

A Bouquet of Old Red Roses 77 

Experience 80 

Nature's Theater 81 

Moonrise 82 

Looking Backward 83 

As the Sun Goes Down 8s 

Uncle Bill's Letter 87 

John Howard Payne 89 

10 



CONTENTS. 

Old Jimmy Griffin 90 

Petrarch's Laura 9^ 

Night Voices 92 

Robert E. Lee 93 

Failure 95 

The Conductor's Wife 9^ 

When the Snow Comes Down i04 

In the Library io5 

If We Had Known ^o^ 

Saying Good-by ^^7 

Valentine Days ^oS 

On Rainy Days ^^° 

Think of Me, Little Girl m 

In the Shade ^^^ 

Robert Burns ^^3 

Under the Fresh Green Grass "5 

Ingersoll "^ 

The Stars "9 

A Lullaby ^-^ 

Night in the City 123 

Unc' Ccesar's Philosophy 124 

Len 125 

A Disappointed Fellow i3o 

The Symbol Stars i3i 

Justice ^3- 

James Whitcomb Riley ^33 

II 



CONTENTS. 

Quatrains c . 134 

The Cause of Cuba ........ 136 

Questioning 139 

Parting .......... 140 

Beyond Recall . . . . . . . . .141 

Antipodes 143 

Remorse 144 

Hagar 145 

Down on the Farm — A Medlej ..... 147 



12 



AN AUTUMN LANE. 
I. 

THE farthest hills that vaguely are outlined 
Are loveliest to the dreamer's pensive view; 
The dearest years are those that lie behind, 

Far off and dim in recollection's blue. 
I loiter, therefore, in the aiitumn lane 

That leads to where my earlier years were spent ; 
Old forms, old thoughts, old faiths come back again 

As all the past is with the present blent. 
The dawn-gleams spread — soon will the car of light 

Pass yonder peak upon its world-long run : 
Lo, out from Night's dark tunnel on the sight 

See the red headlight now, the rising sun ! 

II. 

Beneath the glow that like a rapture springs, 
The frosted fields shov/ an unwonted dress, 

As though of down from visiting angels' wings 
Who passed above them in night's silentness. 



AN AUTUMN LANE. 

Beyond the glistening runnel gray cliffs raise 

Heads that are ancient — turbaned in the blue — 
As cities that were legends in the days 

When old Damascus flourished quaintly new. 
Not here may come the sounds from where is whirled 

The city's smoke that all the welkin drapes — 
Harsh hammerings on the anvil of the world 

Where rushed humanity its fortune shapes. 

HI. 

Unvexed by much that makes the spirit sore 

With witnessing the war of Wrong and Right, 
A peaceful stream that cheers a peaceful shore 

Day rolls between its banks of mom and night. 
The upper waste, moved by nor winds nor tides, 

Spreads in calm beauty countless leagues away, 
Where one cloud looms as if at anchor rides 

The Ship of Zion in some heavenly bay. 
Within their wings a scrap of April sky, 

The watchful jays their strident warnings clang, 
Where the low hills seem lonely mounds where He 

The bones of giants from whom Anak sprang. 
14 



AN AUTUMN LANE. 

IV. 
Here humble folk in humble ways have taught 

The truth too often now ignored by men : 
Pure lives are echoes of God's holiest thought 

That sounds awhile betwixt the Now and Then; 
Who for the sake of right have often done 

Some kindly deeds the world may never con — 
White blocks of light they've quarried from the sun 

To form a stair to step to heaven on ; 
And proving, in their efforts to succeed 

Through shadov/s that envelop them, that still 
That path is plain, in spite of night and need, 

That's lighted by the ruddy light, the will. 

V. 
Here likewise, as when Eve saw last the face 

Of her firstborn and dropped her trial tears, 
Old Memory keeps her regretful gaze, 

And Love lives on, unaltered by the years. 
The aged sit with their eyes turned Edenward, 

Where youth's flowers in perennial beauty show; 
But though they would return, the decades guard 

With flaming sword the Gates of Long Ago ; 
15 



AN AUTUMN LANE. 

V/hile motherhood may sigh with quivering Hps, 
RecalHng some sweet child face known of yore, 

"How dearer seem those on the outbound ships 
Than those who tarry with us on the shore !" 

VI. 

At noontide to the ears are wafted in 

Wind harmonies from out the minstrel trees, 
Faint as we deem the distance-mellowed din 

Made by the wheels of passing centuries. 
The insect-drones, continuous and forlorn, 

Out where the fallen leaves the moist earth press. 
Hint of a fairy Samson grinding corn — 

Blind dupe of some Delilah's faithlessness. 
The garrulous crows go flapping out of sight 

Where sumacs their ensanguined banners raise ; 
While on the fence a partridge stands upright 

And sHdes its whistle-shuttle through the haze. 

VH. 
Deep are the dyes of purple, gold, and green. 

And sweet all sounds the sylvan ways along; 
i6 



AN AUTUMN LANE. 

Yea, all the earth is but a singing scene, 

And all the world is but a pictured song. 
But distant are those joys my youth has known 

As things that now tradition only holds — 
The trysts on twilight roofs of Babylon, 

And shepherd songs in Shinar's fields and wolds. 
Old homestead! was it wisdom's part to choose 

A larger world and worldly views, in truth? 
For taste Ambition's apple, and we lose 

The sweet faiths of the Paradise of Youth ! 



17 



PRISCELLA. 

THE untrod walks are still and dim, 
And faint with hints of mignonette; 
Upon the worn sundial's rim 

Gray letters tell the motto yet : 
/ niarkc the time — butt Love doth nottc, 

Nor hathe since whenne the Ursie morn beamed; 
And pathos hovers round the spot 
Where fair Priscilla sat and dreamed. 

I see her in quaint costume dight — 
White-bosomed and with eyes of gray, 

She looking down from girlhood's height 
Far on the future's untried way. 

What love songs here her days beguiled. 
What poet was the most esteemed, 

When her colonial lover smiled 

Here where Priscilla sat and dreamed? 
i8 



PRISCILLA. 

Perhaps the bosom now in dust 

Ached as she toyed some hehotrope, 
And tears fell down as teardrops must 

When there is dearth of trust and hope. 
But, coffined in the long ago, 

The breast that ached and eyes that beamed ! 
And Love mice marked the time, I know, 

Here where Priscilla sat and dreamed. 



19 



A LAZY OLD DREAMER. 

ONE of these lazy old dreamers?'' I'll admit that's 
a pictur' of me, 
Jest lollin' aroimd in the suburbs — with a pole an' a 

line, it may be ; 
Or watchin' the peter-birds flyin' there over the still 

meadcr lands, 
Or the God-woven scarfs of the alders, as white as a 
baby-saint's hands. 

Fur av/ay the chug-chug at the depot of the injines in 
from a run, 

Loud as Time, layin' down an' pantin' from the cen- 
turies' work he has done ; 

An' anear, the child-laughs in the orcha'd that have 
kept the old world fresh an' fair 

Sence the fust little toddler in Eden thrilled the hearts 
of the earliest pair. 

20 



A LAZY OLD DREAMER. 

''One of these lazy old dreamers?" — I'll admit that the 

pictiir' fits me — 
But God wouldn't made all these beauties ef he never 

had wushed us to see ; 
An' I'm puttin' in time a-enjoyin' His handiwork 

morn, eve, an' noon, 
By hug-gin' big arm-loads of summer an' gatherin' 

mouthf uls of June I 



21 



D 



SILENCE. 

ARKNESS and solitude ! No harsh note falls, 
Save when an owl, night's wary sentinel, 



Cries out as hoarsely as the All is well! 
Of some lone watcher sleepless on the walls 
About a midnight city ; the faint calls 

Of fairies might be heard as here they tell 

Love-secrets in their trysting; and the swell 
Of wind chords faints and dies in Nature's halls. 
Upon the upper desert yon cloud-swad 

Seems the mirage of some great caravan, 
And one half-deems the star worlds are anod 

As their weak blinkings in the depths we scan : 
The Silence is the chariot of God, 

Whose spirit comes therein to plead with man. 



23 



THE CHILDREN. 

WE hold the children's cherished hands 
To lead them through the years, 
And as each tender mind expands 
We're filled with anxious fears. 

But should we lose them — no more see 
The wee ones in the paths they've trod — 

We'd learn they lead far more than wc 
The way that winds to God. 



w^ 



VANITY. 

I. 

E rail at our fate obscure, and sneer at the les- 
sons of ages, 

Where we chafe in the Valley of Peace and yearn 
for the distant peak ; 
But we find at the last that the glow of the rainbow 
but presages, 
That the treasure we fain would grasp lies farther 
the more we seek. 
'Twere well could we realize the measureless distance 

soon 
Which spreads 'twixt our wishes and powers, however 
Fame beckon and croon. 

II. 

We cherish ambition, and trust — whatever Content- 

m.ent urges — 

That pleasure will be the reward when striving is 

over and done ; 

24 



VANITY. 

But up to the uttermost reach ring ever the earthly 

dirges, 
While clouds of regret at the top hang heavily round 

the sun. 
And happier the one who learns, ere the difficult effort 

be made, 
That thorns still last in the wreath long after the roses 

fade. 



25 



CONCEITED NEIGHBOR DICEY. 

HE was just a singing master in an old-field singing 
school, 
And to blend his smiles with music was his most re- 
deeming: rule. 



When the wondrous seven note book was the one in 

general use. 
He would pose in the revivals while his songs gushed 

in a sluice! 

With his right hand keeping time, he said this plainly 

with his eyes : 
"They must stir to beat our music with their harps in 

Paradise !" 

When the war of the rebellion rose between the States, 

he wrote : 
"I'm no theorist, Brother Lincoln, but I send in haste 

this note : 

26 



CONCEITED NEIGHBOR DICEY. 

When the fust great battle's comin,' let me march out 

to the front, 
An' I'll warble 'Hail Columby' in the tones that I am 

wont. 

Ef this fails to drive out hatred an' to make both sides 

ground arms, 
Then I'll say for once I'm beaten and that music hath 

no charms." 

So' he went his way a-singing and believing in his 

soul 
That his notes made earth more pleasant and they 

rang from pole to pole. 

When he passed away he murmured : "I'm content 

to go up higher, 
As the seraphs may be needin' of a leader for their 

choir." 

And unless he changes greatly when among the saint- 
ly host, 
He will spoil his first song service pausing now and 

then to boast ! 

27 



CONCEITED NEIGHBOR DICEY. 

But a truce to this amusement — did he lack in manly- 
part, 

Cutting out the rubbish somewhat for the timid march 
of Art? 

Blazing pathways through our crudeness, let us name 

him pioneer 
Of the more advanced and classic with their notes of 

sweeter cheer. 

'Tis but justice to remember, when we'd criticise a 

man, 
That the acme of all honor is to do the best we 

can. 



28 



GREAT SOULS. 

I. 

THE greatest spectacle of time 
Came when the curtain was iiprolled, 
Displaying there, so simple and sublime, 

One who across Judean vales had trod — 
Who reaching high from Calvary with agony untold. 
Cast all the hopelessness of man down at the feet 
of God ! 

II. 

Below, far under that stupendous plane, 

And yet, and yet sublime, it seems to me 

Some spirits still on earth there be, 

Alive unto the people's ruth — 

Sent forth in one pathetic song — 

Who stand again 

Before the Now's Thermopylae; 

And, mailed in courage, clasping the keen truth, 

Hold back the minions of old Wrong. 

29 



GREAT SOULS. 
III. 

Do such souls fail? The end will prove 
No battle's lost when it is moved b}- Love, 
Who hears the cry 
Of overawed humanity. 

So, whatsoever years may bring — 

A darker age to fling 

Its shadow o'er us, deep and dread ; 

Or whether universal peace shall spread 
Her sway the universe to span — 

From out the dust of the remotest days 

Will spring the flowers of his praise 
Who feels the cause of Libertv's the cause of man ! 



30 



A THANKSGIVING SONG. 

THERE'RE some of us left yet, my dearie, from 
days that were passingly fair. 

When home was a latter-day Eden and peace bur- 
geoned everywhere. 

What m.attered that Wealth, like the Levite, passed by 
on the farthermost side ? 

That hom.e is the richest, Fm thinking, where Love 
and Contentment abide. 

The little ones then were about us, and Joy sang its 
hopefulest strain. 

And God in the cool of the daytime walked here on 
the earth once again ! 

Our table was long, and the pathos of lessening — 
leaf at a time — 

Came only when both of us bordered the soberer days 
of our prime ; 

And somehow or other, my dearie, to-day tender mem- 
ories flow 

To the Thanksgiving times that have faded — a long 
and a long time ago. 

31 



A THANKSGIVING SONG. 

You mind how the boys came, my dearie, long after 

they'd v/andered away. 
To spend at the home of their childhood the dear and 

the hallowed day ? 
The girls, too — long ago married — how gayly they 

passed the glad hours ; 
While we — yea, the present was brightened by bor- 
rowing the past's fragrant flowers. 
Well, silly old man they may call me, who lingers too 

long in the past, 
And over and over and over cites pleasures that never 

could last : 
But ever and aye I am dreaming the change that is 

coming along, 
All filled vv^ith the gleam of v/hite pinions and sweet 

with the seraphim's song, 
Will bring a reunion, my dearie — a Thanksgiving 

meeting, we know, 
Far sweeter than any experienced a long and a long 

time ago. 



o-' 



THE EMBALMER. 

\^EA, an embalmer liveth still 

i To save men's actions and their names ; 
And mummies in their wrappings fill 
The musty Catacombs of Fame. 

The chieftains of the centuries — 
The great and true of eons long — 

These will be shown to future eyes 
Through the preserving power of Song. 



S3 



A VETERAN'S RECOLLECTION. 



w 



HEN old Sherman marched," says he, 
"Frum Atlanty to the sea, 



Yankees hadn't much respec' 
Fer us Rebels, recollec' ; 

Burned our barns an' stables an' 
Longed, I s'pose, to burn the Ian' ; 

Looted rich an' wronged the pore — 
Till a crow'd starve, some one swore. 

One day, though, a crowd of men 
Went to raid a farmhouse, when 

Suddenlike they in a room 
On a little cradle come. 

All about it crape wus tied, 
TelHn' that a baby'd died. 

Cap'n — as they called him — stood 
Silent as a statyure would ; 
34 



A VETERAN S RECOLLECTIONS. 

'Back/ says he, 'tetch nothin' here/ 
An' he breshed away a tear. 

I'm not levin' — not a bit — 
Them that Sherman had there, yit 

Cap'n seemed to have a soul 
All too tender fer control ; 

Should I meet him, certainly I'd 
Shove all prejudice aside, 

An' exten' a han'/' says he, 
"Fer the baby's memory." 



35 



WHEN THE QUAILS CALLED IN THE 
WHEAT. 

THERE are never days as joyous as the childhood 
days at home, 

And no spots so full of glory as the places where we'd 
roam ; 

Say within some wayside orchard, where their lace the 
spiders spun, 

And the shade was an oasis in the desert of the sun ; 

And the green fields spread about us, and the blue 
fields spread above. 

And the whisper of the leaflets was as low as mur- 
mured love ; 

While a rent was torn through silence when, from out 
their green retreat. 

Pairing doves began their cooing, and the quails called 
in the wheat. 

Why, to tarry by some streamlet was a glory for the 

sight. 
As we watched the shoaling suckers flash like bars of 

splintered light ; 



WHEN THE QUAILS CALLED IN THE WHEAT. 

There was concord in the singing of the farm hands 
in the vale ; 

There was cadence in the beating of the redhead's 
tiny fiail; 

Out among the clover blossoms or the grapevine's fra- 
grant glooms 

Bee-hums sounded like a hymn that lingered tangled 
in the blooms ; 

And we had our childish fancies, saw our castles rise 
complete, 

When the doves began their cooing and the quails 
called in the wheat. 



Would that we could call back even one short day of 

all those days. 
For a stroll about the meadows and the old familiar 

ways ; 
And while drinking in the beauty where the wild rose 

cheers the dawns 
With the fragrance spilled from censers swinging on 

celestial lawns, 

37 



WHEN THE QUAILS CALLED IN THE WHEAT. 

See an old form at the homestead, as her singing meets 

our ear 
In a voice whose music somehow is the dearest one 

may hear ! 
And we half wish life had ended with the childhood 

visions sweet, 
When the doves began their cooing and the quails 

called in the wheat. 



33 



CLARA BARTON IN ARMENIA. 

THE world owes much to woman ! Miriam's 
songs 

Cheered sweedy those who carried in their fates 

The fetal Son who oped the guarded gates 
Of heaven unto man ; a nation's wrongs 
Ended when Esther's love untied the thongs 

That bound it ; roar of cannons and the grates 

Or dungeons have not awed her ; and she waits 
Near battlefields to soothe the weltering throngs. 
But never yet hath worthier deed been done 

Than hers, which braved the Islam where he stood, 
Fed want, and brought to clouded lives some sun. 

When wrinkled Time, in retrospective mood 
Shall brood o'er past things, he will point to none 

Nobler than her who did there ''what she could." 



39 



"AL'AYS BEHIND." 

WELL, Lem wus a caution, an' no mistake — 
Al'ays behind, so 'at some one said 
He'd be 'mongst the last of us all to wake 
,When Gabriel should sound his trump fer the 
dead! 
iWhen he j'ined our regiment we made this fling: 
"He should j'ine the immunes, ef anything; 
He is fever-proof — fer certainly he's 
Too slow to ketch any sort of disease !" 

One day a squad of us regilers went 

In an ambush spread by our cunnin' foes ; 

An' then at the end of the gap arose 

The yells of the heathen with volleys blent. 

The few of us left prepared to run 

To a place that would shelter — all 'cept one ; 

An' he with his smokin' carbine stood 

At the mouth of the gap, with his eyes of blue 

Ablaze with a light you'd liken to 
40 



Mixed fire an' devil an' thunder an' blood ! . . . 

An' Lem held the savages well at bay 
Fer full five minits, till his comrids found 
A chance to retreat to protected ground — 

Left in the rear, as his custom, that dayl 

The captain cried when relatin' how 

The fellow had saved his remnant then; 

An' as fer me, I'm ready to vow 

God knows His biz'ness more than us men. 

While they's need fer the swift — they's times, you 
know, 

When a feller's right handy in bein' slow; 

An' vv^e thanked Him fervently in our mind 

Fer buildin' this man that wus ''al'ays behind." 



41 



DO YOU CARE? 

ALONE in my room in the twilight, 
With all so quiet, my ears 
Catch the echo-ghosts of the whispers 

You spoke in the old glad years. 
And I who swore that my soul no more 

Should yearn for a face that's fair, 
Recall old days and their tender grace, 
And wonder if yet you care. 

Do you ever, as I, hear the music 
Deemed sw^eet by you and by me, 

In the tremulous light that never 
Shone yet on the land or sea? 

That your breath lives yet in the mignonette. 
And your laugh in some fugitive air. 

And the light of your eyes in the morning skies- 
Would you, knowing all this, yet care? 
42 



DO YOU CARE? 

Might I clasp your hand in the silence 

Reached out o'er the desolate past ! 
Might I press one kiss on your forehead, 

Though the pleasure should be my last! 
Heigh-ho! farewell to the dreams that dwell 

As ghosts in the gloom back there; 
But I wish that I knew that your heart beats true, 

And if really you yet care. 



4.r 



BABY'S PRAYER. 

IN looking backward now they come to me — 
The scene, the shadows, and the summer air, 
His little head low bowed upon my knee 

As sweetly offered he his childish prayer: 
"B'ess papa, an' my ma, an' all who need, 

An' make of me a dood boy, I am p'ayin' — 
But if at firs', dear Dod, 'ou don't sutseed. 
Den 'twy, twy adain !" 

I smiled — but on the smile there also went 

To God another simple prayer from me, 
Repeated now with teardrops sadly blent. 

For the dear boy wherever he may be : 
"If he should stumble in the untried way. 

Still plead Avith Thy dear Spirit from aloft ; 
Be patient should his feet be led to stray 

Not once, not once, but oft !" 



44 



THE WARNING OF TIME. 

(On the Oppression of Finland.) 

NOW look yon, O rulers, and marvel!" came 
hoarsely the voice of old Time ; 
"Forget not that I am still watchful, being only to- 
day in my prime. 

And hsten : Fve witnessed all movements that ever 

have cursed earth or blessed, 
And I can compare all the epochs, and say which is 

worst, wdiich is best. 

I looked, in the far-off Beginning, as sweetly the 

morning stars sang, 
And saw the Lord taming wild chaos, while cosm.os 

to symmetry sprang. 

I stood with my heart aching sorely, as I saw there 

in Eden one day, 
Eve v/eeping in woe in the shadovrs, where the first 

of all murdered men lay; 
45 



THE WARNING OF TIME. 

Saw luxurious Greece's knees shaking as Alaric en- 
tered her home; 

When Genseric came to Rome's borders, heard the 
chattering teeth of old Rome ; 

Watched the pleading and strangling of Poland as the 

robbers laid open her neck, 
And Hungary's tearful entreaties as her nation was 

dashed into wreck ; 

While Freedom, like Sisera's mother, gazed long from 

her window dismayed. 
And cried : 'Where is Liberty's chariots, and why is 

their coming delayed?' 

Till I, who contrast all the eons and say which is best, 

which is worst. 
May ask if, for all of our 'progress,' this age is as pure 

as the first ? . . . 

So remember that I am the Witness Jehovah relies 

on to tell 
If the trusts placed in men are regarded, and if they 

be used ill or well ; 

46 



THE WARNING OF TIME. 



And I shall prove ever unbiased till Deity the uni- 
verse burn, 
And His white hand shall scoop up its ashes, bestow- 



ing them safe in their urn !' 



47 



IN WINTER. 
I. 

AS some white captive who is forced to meet 
A dusky lover, day moves on to greet 
The night reluctantly; above the snow 
An owl glides by as heavy as the flow 
Of doubt through love dreams ; in the cedar glade, 
Made garrulous by the crowds, a gory blade 
Of sunset stabs the gloom ; and faint and far 
Comes sound of bells from where the glimmering 
sheepfolds are. 

II. 
An ebon plaque with one blurred crimson rose — 
Now from the copse a farmhouse window glows ; 
The moon, above a bare oak, limns below 
A devilfish upon the spreading snow 
With open arms ; where in the summer wheeled 
Shy doves, the corn shocks loom a tented field ; 
The light fades ; silence ; and then, faint and far, 
The bells again out where the glimmering sheep- 
folds are. 

48 



ORIGIN OF THANKSGIVING. 

IN Scriptur' 'counts we Tarn dey lived sumwhah 
across de sea, 
A man dat had a scap'g'ace son, as triflin' as could be. 
He spent his days at circus shows, an' all his change 

per'aps 
In fairo banks er try'n to win a fortune shootin' craps. 

Dis chap wus called a prodigal — des what it means 

I'se sho' 
I cain't explain — but dah he wus, true's two an' two 

make fo' ; 
An' when his rocks give out he said he'd go back 

home ag'in, 
An' see'f his pap would soften down an' let de wan- 

drah in. 

De wimmin folks wus settin' roun' a readin' fashion 

books, 
When down de tu'npike one young gal lif s up her 

eyes an' looks. 
4 49 



ORIGIN CF TIIAXK3GIVIXG. 

She says : "Heah comes dat hobo, pa — he's lihhy, I 

cleclah ! — 
I'm glad my fellah is not close, to see him trampin' 

dah !" 

But dat ol' man flung down his stick — went straight 

as he could go — 
His long haih re'chin' down his back, an' wavin, w^hite 

as snow. 
"Do los' is foun' ag'in," he ses, between a sob an' 

laugh ; 
An' den, "I'll make de niggahs go an' kill de fatted 

ca'f!" 



De hobo chased out to de branch, took out his bah 

ob soap, 
And washes good ; den kitchenw^ahd he stahted in a 

lope; 
An* while he w^aited fo' de meal to cook, I tell you 

whut, 
His stomic mighty nigh thought sho' de young man's 

th'oat wus cut ! 

50 



ORIGIN OF THANKSGIVING. 

"I'se hongry and can't wait," ses zee, '*tell dat yere 

roast is done ; 
Ef dey is any possum cooked, or any brown co'n 

pone. 
Or any ol' thing layin' roun', dess set it out," ses zee ; 
*Ter crum's f'om off de table now is good enough fo' 

me !" 

Well, dey wus music in de yahd, and in de quahtahs, 

too, 
De banjohs ringin' "Boom-de-ay," or ^'Linger Longer 

Lou ;" 
An' as de inst'vmients rung out an' each his podnah'd 

swing, 
I 'spec' de ol' man sasheyed out an' cut de pigeon 

wing ! 

I has no doubt about it, sah, Thanksgivin' stahted den, 
An' it's been handed down each yeah to cheer de sons 

ob men ; . . . 
An' while I'se talkin' ob dese things, don't cah ef you 

would pass 
A little ob de vittals, please, to break dis ol' man's 

fas'! 

5-i 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

A SOLEMN stillness hangs o'er fields and woods 
As palpable as the blue veil that spreads 

About the world; one idle loiterer treads 
On nuts that dam the stream ; Red Riding Hoods, 
The sumacs gleam amid the solitudes 

Where a shy woodchuck glides ; the pitted heads 

Of thistles are wind shorn, and spiders' threads 
Enlace the haunts where the gray sparhawk broods. 
A faint pulsation, rings the cricket's beat 

Out in the grass where — gem.s of amethyst — 
Protected gentians yet the eyesight greet ; 

A sportive squirrel stirs the leaves ; and hist ! 
A dove's voice in the haze — a symbol meet 

Of faith that calleth through death's shrouding mist. 



52 



A PETITION. 

" But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet." 
(Matt. vi. 6.) 

WHERE is this closet — in the solitude 
Where sylvan leaves with palpable soft stir 
Seem to our ears the faint down-floating whir 
From Time's wings as he flaps above the stream and 
wood ? 

What is this closet— shades of urban night. 
Where o'er the revelry the coupling trains 
Jar like the heavy noise of clanking chains 
As Day (made captive), rousing, tries once more his 
might ? 

When I shall rest, with eyes that no more see — 
Sadly alone when friends shall go their way — 
Remember, Thou! one soul oft knelt to pray 
Amid the solitudes of crowds and nights of revelry. 



53 



THE PREACHER. 

LITTLE Bill, my boy, goes todcllin' round the 
premises all day — 
Jest a four-year-old, but havin' of an emperor's full 
sway. 

"Li Hung Chang" — we say — ''from Chiny, never ast 

more questions than 
Little Bill, when he gits started fer to astin' questions, 

can." 

He will stop me fer a story when I'm busy in the fiel' — 
Make me mend his trucks, er maybe pick a brier from 
his heel ; 

An' it's strange I don't git worried — but I've changed 

the last few years ; 
See more sunshine in the meaders an' more flowers 

ever'wheres. 

Somehow they is more of glory sneak in' round tlian 

v\^a5 of old, 
While the world is full of music as the old world v/ell 

can hold. 

54 



THE PREACHER. 

*'Guess some preacher's tetched your feelin's ; you're 

a better man than once" — 
Neighbors sometimes laugh an' tell me — "we can see 

sech differunce/* 

But I'm half of the opinion, silly as the words may 

sound, 
Little Bill's the preacher done it as he goes a toddlin' 

round ! 



OD 



A TYPE AND AN APPLICATION. 

OLD Colonel Dupont was a critic, an' he had a 
kind word fer no one, 

But he roasted some feller-man daily from his goods 
box seat in the sun. 

Pete Bond wus *'a plug of a farmer;" Ike Blumc wus 
*'no lawyer at all ;" 

Bill Higgins wus *'sech a pore docter it's a wonder he'd 
once got a call ;" 

An' ef he wus in all of their places he'd r'aly do some- 
thin' or bust — 

When the fact is he'd never done nothin' but criticised, 
whittled, an' cussed! 

Tlie world has a whole lot of colonels, an' them as 

ain't colonels beside. 
That foller his style an' ferever the failin's of others 

deride. 
You can count on this item as certain : that the one 

that is quickest to blame 
5^ 



A TYPE AiVD AN APPLICATION. 

Is the feller that fell down the soonest in the race alter 

riches or fame ; 
An' every pore mortal that's risen knows well that 

the maxim is true, 
That talkin' is easy as eatin', but achievin is harder 

to do. 



57 



MARGARET. 

SLIP of parchment, dim and old, 
Yet a tale it doth unfold : 
''Farewell, Lover; you'll regret" — 
This was all, and — "Margaret." 

Yellow bit of gossip! for 
Ninety years the escritoire 
Hath its secret kept — and yet 
I would kncw^ it, Margaret. 

I can see the lovers now — 
He hath curls about his brow — 
Powdered ; rings wdth rubies set 
All his thoughts for Margaret. 

She with garments of the flow 

Of a century ago ; 

Sweet of disposition — yet 

How your heart ached. Margaret! 
^3 



MARGARET. 

How your heart ached as you saw 
Him some other beauty draw 
In the reel or minuet — 
While you flirted, Margaret 1 

For a lover's quarrel came 
And you thought your passion's flame 
Out; but then your eyes were wet, 
Says this parchment, Margaret! 

Fellow-feelings bind us ; so 
I am curious to know 
If he ever felt regret? 
Well, I hope so, Margaret. 



59 



A DREAM OF SPRING. 

TO see the spring come in with pomp again! 
The dandeHons Hke Circassians Hft 

Black eyes to meet you ; in the dampened rift 
Of rotted leaves, the violets are fain 
To stir from where all winter they have lain ; 

Beside the fence the sorrel's mingled drift ; 

While o'er the fresh-plowed furrows, flying swift, 
The bluebird mocks the humming of the swain. 
The sun, as one who for a time bemoaned 

His dead, smiles with a semblance of the joy 
He felt ere summer died, once more enthroned ; 

And zephyrs laugh the laughter of a boy 
For spring, when God stoops and with potent breath 
The earth from its long slumber quickeneth. 



60 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

YEARNING wistful through the distance, long- 
lost comrades of the Past, 
As the Christmas nears I hail you in a love that's still 

steadfast. 
For last night I dreamed my footsteps had again 

strayed back to you, 
And you met me with your smiles as ever you were 

wont to do. 
Out above the brooding hills I saw the red streaks of 

the morn, 
Like rose-bordered paths to heaven from a wilderness 

forlorn ; 
In the village streets I lingered where as children we 

had played, 
When we thought the hilltops bounded all the world 

that God had made ; 
And we grasped and clasped a moment as before there 

came farewells, 

While we heard 

The bells a ringing — 

Heard the gladsome Christmas bells. 
6i 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

Long-hushed voices, dear old comrades, that within 
my dream would rise, 

Sounded as though born of music drifting down from 
Paradise ; 

Tlioughts of early sweethearts' greetings in the glad 
old-fashioned way 

Brought some tears for dreams that perished in our 
youthhood's flowered May; 

Friends who'd suffered seemed drawn closer unto me 
than they had been, 

For the hearts that have their sorrows temper judg- 
ment on all men ; 

As about gone days we chatted and among changed 
ways we trod, 

Earth seemed really drawn up som.ehow just a little 
nearer God. . . . 

And Fd like to be in person where each old-time com- 
rade dwells, 

While the Lord's 

Good will's a ringing 

In the gladsome Christmas bells. 



62 



THE BRIDGE. 

I. 

THE night and solitude their vigils keep, 
While the old world in sheets of moonlight 
lies, 
/ Her wrinkled face turned upward to the skies, 
The droning winds her murmurings in sleep. 

H. 
Then, lo ! a bridge spreads, brightening evermore. 

In splendid arches on its piers of prayer ; 

And with sure step I pass along to where 
This bridge of faith juts on the Beulah shore. 



63 



THE DRESS. 

HOW faded now — drawn from its place 
Where it hath lain for, lo, how longe; 
But inne its wrinkled foldes and lace 

Live Aprile's scente and Aprile's songe. 
I half-waye wonder if — bedighte 

Inne spotless robes onne yon far shore — 
Shee is as winsome, pleasing, quite, 
As inne this lyttle dresse shee wore. 

I see her inne ye olde wise, whiles 

Ye daintie, ribboned thing shee tries — 
Rare roses inne her maiden smiles, 

Sweete poems inne her girlish eyes. 
And what if, inne ye love I beare 

For ye deare one God gave of yore, 
1 deemed her but some angel's prayer 

Whenas this lyttle dresse shee wore! 

64 



TtlK DRESS. 

Shee faded younge and left life dreare, 

Though sunshine came againe, forsoothe; 
And inne mine age it seemes more near 

To where shee is than back to youthe. 
And since my footsteps draw nigh where 

Shee waites — I thanke the goode Lorde o'er 
That I shall greete her still as faire 

As when this lyttle dresse shee wore. 



A SONG OF PATRIOTISM. 

(The Spanish- American War.) 

I HEAR a cry that rises and swells on every breeze, 
No laggards on the shore and no laggards on the 
seas; 
From homes of Lee and Lincoln the patriot souls are 

seen — 
Thank God ! the land's united, the old flag waves 
serene ! 

Because she is long patient, let none dare go too far — 

America, peace-loving, is not afraid of war ; 

And those of yore who wronged her have aye had 

cause to weep — 
Found every son a hero *'and not a knight asleep." 

Not vain the fire of Henry ; not vain Revere's wild 

ride; 
Not vain the brave battalions who for their country 

died : 
From homes of Lee and Lincoln the patriot souls are 

seen — 
Thank God! the land's united, the old flag waves 

serene! 

66 



THE LETTER. 

RUMMAGING through a trunk well worn 
I come at last on a faded note. 
What is the trifle, musty and torn ? 
Ah, the letter that Asa wrote. 

*1 love you now, and shall ever love, 

Unchanged in life, and unchanged in death." 

These fooHsh things it is filled full of. 
And the letter only lingereth. 

It was written after a quarrel was through, 

And the sweet make-up that the lovers know; 

And he thought it all, and I thought it too, 
A long and a long ago. 

Time conquercth love, the cynic allows, 

And so say I the results denote ; 
But why a sigh over Asa's vows. 

And the letter that Asa wrote? 



67 



INHUMANITY. 

OLD Mason had a boy went wrong, 
An Neighbor Beers he ups an' says : 
"It's but a bad streak som'ers, pison-strong, 
Fer parents' former sins, I guess." 

Then Beers' son in a few short years — 
Why, he turned out about as bad ; 
"But 'tain't heredity," this time says Beers ; 
"It's the bad company he had." 

When there's — instid of charity — 
This cruelty that flays and flogs, 
I think, too, that the more sech men I see, 
The more I reverence common dogs ! 



6S 



THRENODY. 

I. 

THE same deep sky and twilight, 
The same old hills austere; 
But eyes that once were my light, 
Their presence is not near. 

H. 

The whippocrwill calls tender 
To night that nearer draws, 

And the mute spiders render 
Their silent songs in gauze. 

III. 

And now, while stars are keeping 
Their watch on sea and shore. 

Pale Memory pauses weeping 
Where two shall meet no more. 



69 



IT MAY BE. 

IT may be sometime, when my patient face 
Is absent from the old familiar place, 
You will recall with softened heart at last 
How one hath loved you with a love steadfast ; 
And then shall I be paid for hope deferred, 
The never-coming love glance and the yearned-for 
word. 

It may be sometime when my hands are cold, 
You then will miss the tender clasp of old. 
I would not have you sad ; but were this so, 
'Twould be a comfort could my spirit know; 
It could atone for all the barren past — 
To know with death I bought one tender thought at 
last. 



70 



A SCIENTIFIC QUESTION. 

SENCE I rahn'ed ter read de Bible I has put in 
plenty work 

Settin' roun' an' 'sputin' ; 
No subject dat's respectible Fse ever tried to shirk, 

Settin' roun' an' 'sputin'. 
But in all ob my experunce I'se nebbah got so nigh 
Outen somepin' foh to argy an' ter spout erbout dat I 
Had ter 'sert dat man's fo'fathuh wus a monkey, by 
de by — 

Settin' roun' an' 'sputin'. 

An' I think it is my duty dat I rendah in ol' age, 

Settin' roun' an' 'sputin', 
A little clinchin' question foh de layman an' de sage, 

Settin' roun' an' 'sputin' : 
Ef de monkey wus man's daddy, why'd he stop so long 

ergo 
Havin' fokeses foh his chilluns, I would sortuh lak to 

know ? 
While de scientists may 'splain it, still I'se ruthuh 
stumped foh sho', 

Settin' roun' an' 'sputin'! 
71 



A 



THE SNOW. 
MUDDY inland sea, the sage grass stirs 



In undulations to the wind ; the rill 
Moans in the agony of winter's chill ; 
Within the woods hide ghostly whisperers — 
Stilled when the startled quails with noisy whirs 
Seek safety in a copse ; with neighings shrill, 
A stray horse wanders on a darkling hill, 
Erowsing among the mullein and dead burs. 

Vvhen twilight dieth, softly flakes descend. 
As thistledown ; an eagre-driven bark, 

An owl's form sweeps across the gray, to l^lend 
With the black line of trees ; and then the dark. 

Night passes on, as pass the years, and, lo! 

The badge of age on nature's head — the snow. 



73 



THE LITTLE PORTRAIT, 

HEY, little boy in the red plush frame, alone on 
the mantel there, 
You've the same sweet smile that we knew so well 

when the future spread out fair! 
Little bright eyes with the ambushed smiles, innocent, 

blue, and true. 
The time has been long, been long, my boy, since last 

we have looked on you ; 
Is it well with you now in the life you lead, in the 

Somewhere lying far ? 
For the old folks pray, as they've always prayed, God 

love you wherever you are ! 

Hey, little boy in your fadeless garb, and safe in your 

red plush frame. 
There's never an unkind thought in our hearts ; for 

you not a word of blame ; 
73 



THE LITTLE PORT]S.AlT. 

The shadows are thicker within the rooms, and deeper 

within our breast ; 
May they never once lengthen across your path, or 

cause you any unrest ! 
Through the nights and the days be sure, my boy, in 

the Somewhere lying far, 
The same old prayer is our prayer always : God love 

you wherever you are ! 



74 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

COLUMBUS de Blank wus a tasty old chump 
As you'd find — well, in most any nation or 
State. 
*'Be modest," he said; ''never sound your ov;n 
trump ; 
Repeating a compliment's not delicate." 
He used to throw down Colonel Long's Weekly 
Dirk— 
"It makes one so tired, very tired," he would say ; 
"He copies what So-and-So says of his work — 
How a sense of what's tasty should wander his 
way!" 

Soon Columbus de Blank bought a plant and begun 

For to write paragraphs in a ringing way, too. 
When the Journal or Blast complimented his fun 

And his logical leaders, now what did he do? 
Then to clip was appropriate — never once bored ; 
He watched for the puffs, which he printed with 
zeal ; 
For it not only matters as to whose ox is gored, 
But whose vanity's touched, as to how we may 
feel! 

75 



A TRACKLESS TERRITORY. 

NO harsher note sounds there than turtles' call, 
There all things are the same from day to day ; 
The minutes drop from time as petals fall 
From off the rose to wither and decay. 

Thereward the prow of every ship is turned, 
And thereward are our fondest glances sent; 

And yet no one, however he has yearned. 
Has reached the far-off region of Content. 



76 



A BOUQUET OF OLD RED ROSES. 

SEEMS like recollection somehow seeks the days 
when it is rainin' 
Fer to send our fancy backward to the years that 
used to be ; 
An' a person sees the bygone with no effort much of 
strainin', 
That it does us good to look at even in the memory. 
So that at this very minute I can plainly see an' smell 
The bouquet of old red roses that my mother loved so 
well. 



Soon as April sun an' showers set the flowers all to 
smilin'. 
Then the yard wuz sweet with music of the dronin' 
honeybees ; 
When we'd trudge from work to dinner, there wuz 
nothin' more beguilin' 
Or suggestin' to a mortal of a land of peace an* ease, 
77 



A BOUQUET OF OLD RED ROSES. 

Than to set down by the winder fer a moment's restin' 

spell, 
Nigh the plain bouquet of roses that my mother loved 

so well. 

Lookin' out on summer evenin's where the killdees 
wuz a cryin', 
An' the moonbeams seemed reflections of the ser- 
aphs' arms re'ched down, 

Ef my boyish soul felt lonely over thoughts that set 
one sighin', 
Wuzn't she a-near to comfort an' to drive away 
care's frown, 

As she sung some old-timxC anthem in the candlelight 
that fell 

On the sweet bouquet of roses that my mother loved 
so well ? 

It might seem right quare and silly — but while think- 
in' of the hours 
In our home when she wuz livin' an' when I wuz 
jest a bov — 

7ii 



A BOUOUF.T OF OLD RED ROSES. 

Should I be at last so favored as to re'ch the land 

where flowers 
Grow in never-fadin' beauty, an' there's nothin' else 

but joy, 
Heaven would be sweeter holdin', where the angels' 

voices swell, 
A bouquet of old red roses like my mother loved so 

well. 



79 



EXPERIENCE. 

BEEN livin' sometime in a quiet sort of way, 
But somehow I've gathered a proverb or two : 
Ef you'd save yourself trouble, I'd jest caution you, 
Don't hear all the things that the other folks say. 

Been livin' as well as a pore worm could live, 

With a heart purty free frum annoyance each day: 
Ef you think that is well, then reguard what I say, 

Do7i't see all the slights that the other folks give. 



80 



NATURE'S THEATER. 

THE autumn prepares a spectacular show 
To the myriad spheres that are huddled in 
space ; 
Hidden hands turn slowly the star jets low, 
While full on the stage looks every face. 

The curtain of darkness at last is uprolled, 

And the calcium lights of the dawn flush the 
lands ; 

Lo, the earth, In her beauty of green, red, and gold. 
And the wind-roar, as far-away clapping of hands ! 



8i 



MOONRISE. 

LIKE moving figures in a dream, 
The cattle near the milking gap; 
Dark as a passing evil thought. 
An owl flits by with noiseless flap. 

And then a fair-faced Amazon 

Strides up the east, and soon has hurled 
A thousand silver javelins down 

To drive the shadows from the world! 



LOOKING BACKWARD. 

A FLECK of the sun, or the balmy air 
Jest off of the clover som'ers, 
An' I pause at my work, and my thoughts go where 

Fields sound to the spring's fust comers ; 
The bees in the dogwood blooms, an' the birds 

Fresh out o' their winter qua'ters, 
An' the shitepoke down where the browsin' herds 
Draw nigh to the swishin' waters. 



I re'ch my hand till I seem to grasp 

The hands of the old-time fellers ; 
Growed dearer now they're beyond my clasp, 

For nothin' like absence mellers. 
Tom Jones, Jim Fite, the Starkses an' Kings, 

Ef you knowed how much I hunger 
To talk of nothin' but the old, old things 

We talked of when we wus younger! 

S3 



LOOKING BACKWARD. 

Say, what Df the bhie and shadery hills, 

Ridge-backed like to camels kneelin' ? 
An' what of the lane an' the whippo'wills, 

And the wild rose scents out-stealin' ? 
What's become of the Givans guirls, an' what 

Has become of the other lasses — 
All holier now for days that are not, 

But asleep under Change's grasses? 

The thoughts of youth should be left to the young? 

Let winter fergit there is roses? 
Let the songs once sung remain unsung? — 

We plan, but Regret disposes ! 
An' comrids back there, I somehow wush 

I knowed you'd sometimes remember 
In the toils of day or the twilight's hush, . . . 

What, cryin'? . . . Old silly December! 



S4 



AS THE SUN GOES DOWN. 

THE lonely old people — of what do they think 
On evenings calm as the sun goes down ? . . . 
(As softly, white hair, as a hand from the brink 
Of the unseen realms tender winds lift you, 
And kiss you like friends that are always true 
No matter if destiny love you or frown.) 
From chairs where they sit in the warm summer air, 
It is easy, I know, for the old eyes to reach 
And rest their dim sight on the heavenly beach. 
As to rest on the past over gray wastes where 

There were beauty and youth and fame's sought 
crown — 

As the sun goes down. 
As the sun goes down. 

Ah, the wonderful change that behind them sweeps 
On evenings red as the sun goes down — 
Their childhood and manhood and wifely songs, 
Ere Hope was bounden in Failure's thongs. 

Ere the heart fell diiTma^ ed for its yearning leapo, 

£■5 



AS THE SUN GOES DOWN. 

And age had forgot there was ever renown ! 
But looking ahead there's a view that falls, 
A glint of white sails on a far-away shore, 
The bloom on the faces that fades no more, 
And the petals of roses on the jasper walls 

Extending their blush to the world old and brown- 
As the sun goes down, 
As the sun goes down. 



S6 



UNCLE BILL'S LETTER. 

WE had a note the other day from Uncle Bill, out 
West; 
Been gone some twenty year or more, an' is by riches 

blessed. 
He sent his photergraph along, an' in his letter said 
He's livin' on the ranch alone, an' never yit has wed. 
I guess the Maynard guirl still lives," he wrote, "an's 

purty still — 
She who wus knowed as Roxey when I wus simply 

Bill?" 

We show^ed the photergraph to her ; she read the letter 

through ; 
An' with a little sigh she said— a little nervous, too : 
"Well, Mr. Smith deserves good luck — a noble heart, 

God knov/5 !" 
An' then her face turneu ^Iraiigcly pale — a white and 

withered rose. 

^7 



U.N'CLE BILL S LETTER. 

Perhaps the kind words tetched a chord that straight- 

hke felt a thrill — 
*'She who wus knowed as Roxey when I wus simply 

Bill/' 

They's undercurrents in all lives! . . . Around 

her children play ; 
She has a husband who is kind — an' yit who knows, 

that day 
When she remembered that one heart in all the world 

of care 
Still turned to her in thoughtfulness and guessed her 

pale cheeks fair, 
She felt a feelin' of regret — thought of the dead dream 

still- 
When one wus simply Roxey an' one her lover Bill? 



SS 



JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 

HE sang a simple chanson 
In those forgotten years ; 
The harsh world then grew silent, 

Then trembled into tears. 
And still the tears keep falling, 
And still where'er men roam, 
They bless again John Howard Payne, 
Who sang the song of home. 

O one-time strolling poet! 

How calm must be your rest, 
Where Memory's red roses 

Grow always on your breast ! 
And o'er the dust of cycles 

Time's loving voice will come 
In deathless strain, John Howard Payne, 

For you who sang of home. 



£9 



OLD JIMMY GRIFFIN. 

OLD Jimmy Griffin! I see him now, 
Sun on his face and the snow on his brow, 
Doddering about in his truck patch — fat, 
And in blue cotton pants and plain straw hat; 
Or lounging at ease in his rocking-chair 
In the old-time porch with its cozy air, 
The gourd vines climbing about the door 
And the hollyhock blooms in the yard before. 

"Evil thoughts may enter all minds," he'd say ; 

"Needn't hand 'em a chair, though, an' ax 'em to stay ! 

I've little edication, as any may see ; 

But my Bible's in English, an' plain to me. 

It teaches some truths — take this with the rest : 

Love God an' your neighbor an' do your best." 

If we heed his advice, I guess that the Lord 

Won't test us on grammar to give Ilis reward ! 



9© 



PETRARCH'S LAURA. 
(1327-1899.) 

FIVE centuries and over 
Of joys and woes 
Since Petrarch was her lover — 
The Provence Rose. 

What must have been his passion 

That still it blooms, 
While nation after nation 

Sink in their tombs! 

Though cycles long have glided 

Into the past, 
We know her truth abided 

His passion's blast. 

And more than Love's high praises 

Is Virtue's fame, 
That spurned to let shame's traces 

Smirch wifehood's name. 



91 



NIGHT VOICES. 

THE night, as day, hath voices speaking loud 
The feehngs of the Universe's heart. 

Though hushed the jarring turmoil in the mart. 
The wild applause, the shouting of the crowd 
O'er Csssar raised or luckless Pompey bowed — 

There are sounds as of colliding spheres ; you start 

To almost hear a swishing comet dart 
Through stars that tremble at the wraith, flame- 
browed ! 
And then, through fields of space, where old Time stirs 

'Mong upper worlds as one with moistened eye 
Pausing by fallen tombstones and so peers 

For some loved name, there echoeth a cry, 
The loudest, though Jehovah only hears : 

The million-tongued protest of Misery. 



92 



ROBERT E. LEE. 
In his book Gen. Longstreet criticises Gen. Lee. — Nexvs Item. 

GIRT in his patriotism, and his shield 
That courage which the noblest Spartan knew, 
He did what skill and valor on the field — 

When faced by sheerest Might — can only do : 
Destroyed for years War's marshaled hosts, and slew 
Till nations wondered when such numbers reeled 

Before the prowess of the Southron true ! 
And those who, when the tocsin rang, appealed 
To him to lead — no jot of love will ever yield. 

All efforts of all men must ever be 

As vain as waves to quench the sun's fierce flame — 
Tliough splashed by all the monsters of the sea — 

When bent to wrong the Chief's unsullied fame, 

Or tarnish that undying hero's name! 
Old Time himself hath written this decree, 

Which none may change with good or evil aim : 
*'Safe in the people^s admiration, we 
Shall see no brighter halo than surrounds our Lee." 



93 



MY BROTHER. 

A COUNTRY graveyard, and a long mound lone- 
ly lying 
Beneath the skies on cloudy days and fair ; 
And there you rest. Love for some years will moan, 
Then stranger eyes, your moss-grown name espy- 
ing, 
Will turn away — not knowing you, how should they 
care? 

Can God forget, though? Then, so long as God re- 
members 
The hearts that followed Honor, veering not — 
The hearts that loved Right for Right's sake alone — 
Through all Time's Junes and through all Time's 

Decembers, 
Dear unambitious dust ! you will not be forgot. 



94 



FAILURE. 

I SAW him in his life's young years 
Bid Love farewell — sweet Love in tears : 
''And what," I asked, "dost thou most prize?' 
^'Success," he said with laughing eyes. 

I saw him after he'd grown old, 
And fame was his — friends manifold : 
*Thy heart," I asked, ''for naught now sighs ?" 
*'Yea, Lovey' he said with weary eyes. 



v:) 



THE CONDUCTOR'S WIFE. 

I. 

GENTLE Dolores, I thank you! A lingering 
relict am I, 
Ready to yield my life, anxious to say good-by. 
Lonely, as well as I'm ill? Aching for some kind 

word ? 
Since Allen first went away, but few sweet w^ords have 

I heard ; 
Not that my neighbors anear have proven the least 

unkind, 
And not that they through the days have been to my 

sorrow blind ; 
But hearts that have known Love's tone but slovv-ly to 

tame ones take ; 
And you, you have sorrowed, I hear, knowing of tears 

and heartbreak. 

II. 

I know if he'd had his will, he'd have come back to 

me that day, 

96 



THE CONDUCTOR S WIFE. 

Forgetting the words that I spoke — and the cruelest 
words were they ; 

Sorrow had been unknown, but cleared as the sun- 
kissed brook, 

True Love is so quick to forgive, so ready to over- 
look! 

Something you've heard of the lie causing me many a 
tear, 

But all of it, all of it yet has burdened no human ear : 

Laid in the tomb of my heart, a putrid corpse in the 
gloom, 

Cold as the form of Lazarus, four days dead in the 
tomb. 

With never an interested one to enter and say: 
"Arise ! 

The fault was great, and yet not pardonless in God's 
eyes." 

III. 

Shall I tell it to you? I must, for, under the spell of 

disease. 
My life's surely passing av/ay, a leaf on a wintery 

breeze! 

7 97 



THE CONDUCTORS WIFE. 

Married for more than a year, blessed with a baby's 

smile — 
A talisman sent from Heaven to keep both our hearts 

from guile — 
I thought Allen tired of me, my fretting and words 

of blame. 
For I, you remember, was weak from the day our 

baby came. 
And so one evening I saw, as plain as I see you there, 
A woman clasped in his arms, and he called her young 

- and fair. 
He'd come on the eight o'clock train, and after a 

while with me, 
Had hurried away to a friend he'd promised that hour 

to see. 

IV. 
Jealous ? Of course ! for I knew that virtue, however 

dear, 
With men is not safe as v.'ith wives, guarded by love 

and by fear ; 
For the sins of a husband the curse is never so great as 



is ours- 



98 



THE CONDUCTORS WIFE. 

A hell of contempt and of scorn, scotching Hope's 

sturdiest flowers. 
Our thoughts are but whispers of God, or else of the 

evil one, 
And 'tis ours to hearken to God's, and the other's sug- 
gestions to shun. 
And the night was a June night and clear, even down 

there in the streets, 
Where the smoke of the restless trains the eyes and 

the nostrils greets — 
A monster apoise and dark, apoise on its mammoth 

wings 
Over a world not fair, however the poet sings ! 
And I said : "I wish that the train that bore you home 

to-night 
Had brought you in but a corpse for treating my 

constancy light ; 
Killing affection for aye, I wish they had tolled your 

knell— 
Tne long, long whistle at eight, and the clanging call 

of the bell r 



LotC. ^^ 



THE CONDUCTORS WIFE. 

V. 

Morning time dawned at last, but night was never 

more dark : 
When faith is slain in the breast, who heedeth the lay 

of the lark ? 
How dim fell the sun on the street now loud with the 

hawker's cry : 
How desolate the little yard where the butterflies idled 

by! 
He said he'd explain some day, and he worshiped me 

more than all, 
And trust him and love and the truth, and away would 

fade doubt's pall. 
But cruelly harsh and sore, never a kiss I gave — 
Never a kiss or a glance to lighten his ride to the 

grave ! 
And kissing the babe, he said : "Ere father returns 

again, 
Soften your mother's heart till it trembles to sympa- 
thy's strain." 
He waved back his kisses to me, and one to the baby 

there, 

I GO 



THE CONDUCTORS WIFE. 

Then went to the train with no kiss save that of the 
morning air. 

VI. 

Ere the day had passed to the night I regretted the 

words I said, 
And I longed for the whistle and bell, and the glow 

that the headlight shed. 
I went to the cottage gate, and I looked with an anx- 
ious eye 
Up, up the narrowing rails that jutted, it seemed, on 

the sky. 
But after a while my heart sank down in its weight of 

fears, 
P'or the cries from a ruined wreck came throbbing 

within my ears : 
And a flagman's voice told out, as over the yards he 

crossed, 
The train had gone through a bridge, and every soul 

was lost ! 

VII. 

He said he'd explain some day ; ah, Allen, the secret's 
known ! 

lOI 



THE CONDUCTORS WIFE. 

Tvvas his sister there in the dark who shared my af- 
fection's throne : 

A sister who'd hstened the tempter, Hstened in trust 
and fell, 

While he, with a brotherly love, sought to hold her yet 
from hell. 

Through the ten long years that have passed my heart 
has longed for him, 

Cried for a v/ord or a kiss out of the silence dim ; 

And never a June night's passed I've not stood there 
in the door. 

Watching the eight o'clock train, on schedule time 
as before. 

While the hawkmoths rustled the vines, and the 
switching cars moved slow. 

And electric lights flashed out on the sullen river be- 
low. 

VIII. 
But the end of the waiting's here, and a blissful hour 

to me! 
Dolores, gentle Dolores, who knows but his face I'll 

see! 

I02 



THE CONDUCTOR S WIFE. 

Your hand but a moment, raise ; tell to me what is that 

I hear — 
The jar of great wheels rolling, coming ever and ever 

near? 
Joy and his love once more ! and, tolling Despair's 

wild knell, 
One long, long whistle at eight, and the — clanging — 

call— of the— bell ! 



^-3 



WHEN THE SNOW COMES DOWN. 

DREAMING in the shadows, 
Beside the smoldering fire ; 
And spirits and things earthly 

Grow gradually nigher. 
And thought wdll somehow, somehow, 

Go outward from the town, 
To where the dead are sleeping — 
When the snow comes down. 

How fare out in God's Acre 

The dead wTapped in their shrouds — 
The babes and parents sleeping. 

Forgotten by the crowds? 
The frying flakes are roses 

That brighten the tombs' frown- 
White roses God is scattering 

When the snow comes down. 



104 



IN THE LIBRARY. 

ARRANGED in shelves the thoughts are seen 
Of two who struggled long ago : 
Keats charms yet — Keats of gentle mien — 

And Byron, how his numbers flow ! 
There was a tamer time we know 

When men decried their power and fire ; 
But for those souls' rhymed overflow, 
A million readers now admire. 

Ah, beauties yet lie hid, to be 

Revealed to future skeptics' eyes ; 
Truths Shakespeare, even, did not see 

Shall win the praises of the wise. 
And scoffers may deplore with sighs — 

As those of old — "our common clay," 
But cycles hence the crowd will prize 

Some slighted toiler of to-day. 



105 



IF WE HAD KNOWN. 

If we had known 

The murmurs coming from unheeded lips 

Had been the last before the eyes' eclipse, 

And the warm clasping of the living hand 

The last ere hidden in the Silent Land, 

We would have lingered longer, longer tliere 

Where doom was crouched within the brooding 

air, 

If we had known. 

If we had known ! 
We realize there's but a step from day 
To that drear realm wherein the shadows stay, 
And sweetest laughter from the heart, joy-flushed, 
Can the next moment be forever hushed ; 
And yet somehow we carelessly forget, 
Till forced to cry in wild and vain regret — 

If we had known ! 



1 06 



SAYING GOOD-BY. 

JUST a kiss, a sigh, good-by — 
This for us at summer's ending. 
Are we happier, you and I, 

For the hours we've been spending? 
Sweetheart! happier, you and I, 
Saying good-by? 

Just a few weeks' pleasant talks, 

Sweet with eglantine and clover ; 
But recalling tryst and walks. 

Would we mind to live them over? 
Sweetheart! would we, you and I, 
Saying good-by? 



107 



VALENTINE DAYS. 

THE custom was a simple one, and filled with pleas- 
ure, too, 
When we w^ere young, my friend, when we were 
young ; 
And have we known of sweeter times, or hearts that 
beat as true, 
Since we were young, my friend, since we were 
young ? 
On the inside or the outside of the plain, old-fashioned 

home, 
The lights of heaven shone about from morning till 

the gloam ; 
If care gleamed, 'twas as far away as was some feeble 

star 
That twinkled but as sun-kissed sand upon a distant 

bar. 
A realm of fragrant roses, and a kneeling at Love's 

shrines — 
Those faded days when 'mong old v/ays we thought of 

valentines. 

io8 



VALENTINE DAYS. 

We've long since given up the things that made us 
happy then, 

When we were young, my friend, w^hen we were 

young ; 
The manher duties of the world must satisfy us men, 
Since we were young, my friend, since we were 

young. 
Light thoughts of scented missives and the tender 

wiles of love, 
Are banished with those younger years we're often 

dreaming of ; 
The eyes that captured with a glance, the lips that 

spoke our names, 
Belong to plain old spinsters now or fat-and-forty 

dames! 
And yet I doubt if riches, or if yet the bay that twines, 
Bring half the joys to us grown "boys" who thought 

of valentines. 



109 



ON RAINY DAYS. 

ON rainy days Care flings its goad away, 
And to the sway of Peace's influence yields ; 
The outside world grows holier, as the day 

^ Christ passed along among the Sabbath fields. 
From out a copse a dove's mellifluous coo 

Blends with the softness of the blurry haze ; 
And drowsy chimney swallows sink from view, 
On rainy days. 

All sounds are low and mellow like the tone 
Of some cathedral organ notes, the while 

A sparrow twitters by its nest alone, 

And geese march through the lot in Indian file. 

And from a cottage, on the air a-swim, 

A woman's voice swells in a song of praise, 

And then my soul floats heavenward on the hymn, 
On rainy days. 



no 



T 



THINK OF ME, LITTLE GIRL. 

HOU art nearing the time all too fast, little girl, 
When womanly yearning shall wake ; 
May the talisman, hope, linger well to the last, 
And shield thee from tears and heartbreak ! 
Though thy dreams to the least be entirely fulfilled. 
And thy burgeoning faith-buds be never once chilled, 
Still turn from thy dreams in the joyful whirl. 
And think of me once in a while, little girl. 

Womanhood's coming apace, little girl. 

With promise of visions so sweet; 
And Love that is tender will seek thy embrace, 

And his glances thy pure ones will greet. 
One lonely old bosom will oftentimes ache. 
Though I show thee but smiles for thy dear little sake ; 
Then turn from thy dreams in the everyday whirl. 
To think of me once in a while, little girl ! 



Ill 



IN THE SHADE. 

LEANING upon the shaded fence, I feel 
A sense of keen enjoyment through me steal 
I live alone in the ideal and dream, 
And all things with a floating vagueness gleam ; 
Strange pageants seem to fill the morning air, 
And music rises from I know not where. 

The bees, as lovers' mouths on loved ones' lips, 
Cling to the blooms whence dewy nectar drips ; 
Bell-tinklings, mellowed by the distance, fall 
Like stray refrains from over Heaven's wall ; 
And meadows spread in sun and shade away, 
Inviting Pan to hereward come and stay. 



112 



ROBERT BURNS. 

AHAMELY lot was thine, Bob Burns — ane filled 
wi' mickle t'il; 
Yet e'en for thee the mavis sang an' gowans lo'ed to 

smile. 
An' a' the warld is glad to-day to claim thee as its ain, 
An wad noo, shouldst thou ask for it, gie bread an' not 
a stane ! 

Thy fame is ower a' the earth, 

Each heart to thine ain turns : 
Nae ither bard's poetic worth 
Maun shadow thine, Bob Burns. 

Our love is like thine ain, Bob Burns, for her thy heart 

held dear — 
*'Time but the impression deeper makes" as ^'channels 

deeper wear !" 

Though born unknown 'mang Scotia's braes, we gie to 

thee to-day 
8 113 



RODERT BURNS. 

The honors that we gie the great — that ne'er maun dee 
awa' ! 

Thy fame is ower a' the earth, 

Each heart to thine ain turns : 
Nae ither bard's poetic worth 
Maun shadow thine. Bob Burns. 



114 



LOVEc 
nial 



UNDER THE FRESH GREEN GRASS. 

OVE and affection for some, and existence peren- 
May; 
Yearning in vain for others as the seasons go on their 

way; 
But all of it finds surcease, the laughter as well as the 

sighs. 
Under the fresh green grass, under the old blue skies. 

Greatness and glory for some, and the tribute of praise 
and song; 

Obscurity alone for others "as long as life — as long;" 

Yet glory shall nothing avail, no matter what fame de- 
nies. 

Under the fresh green grass, under the old blue skies. 

Heaven's not bought with a price, and earth's not 

holden in fee; 
And leveled are caste and degrees far over the jasper 

sea; 
But sweet shall the slumbering be of happy and tearful 

eyes. 
Under the fresh green grass, under the old blue skies. 



INGERSOLL. 

THROUGH the land has sped the message that 
the infidel is dead — 
Gone the power of verbal magic; low the one-time 

proud-poised head. 
Even the believer pauses and expresses genuine ruth 
For the death of one whose genius might have been 

a lamp for youth, 
Who yet followed Doubt — regarding it the harbinger 
of Truth. 

There are few whose faith he sneered at will contest 
the praise, Love-made, 

That he, dealing with his fellows, noble attributes dis- 
played. 

Charity — which Christ exalted when upon the earth — 
is fain 

To admit the friendly tribute, though the questions 
still remain : 

What have men gained by his talents ? What in scof- 
fing did he gain? 

ii6 



IXGERSOLL. 

Doubt — the agent of the Dark One — may the stout- 
est hearts assail : 

Is it best to yield — and suffer, when a bold front may 
avail ? 

There before him glowed the record : Men have heark- 
ened to the Word, 

And have heaved the old zvorld Godzvard, while within 
their bosoms stirred 

A sweet hope that surges bravely and in death is not de- 
terred! 

Was there wisdom in assuming that a mortal has the 

right 
To destroy the day — then give us naught but darkness 

for the light ? 
Was it wise to view^ the deathbed, where the dying are 

made glad, 
Cr the progress of the peoples Vv-ho the Christian hope 

have had. 
Then declare their creeds pernicious and their votaries 

but mad ? 



117 



INGERSOLL. 

Men are weak ; the way is stony ; and we stumble on 

the road : 
None may rightly judge their struggles where no eye 

can see the load. 
But Jehovah's mercy's boundless, and its reach none 

hath divined— 
Let us trust some Christian's prayers in the days that 

lie behind 
Have availed somewhat the scoffer as he plodded on 

doubt-blind. 



iiS 



T 



THE STARS. 

I. 

WAS eve in Bethlehem, the while the spheres 
Were younger yet by many hundred years. 



The crowded town was fluttering in unrest, 
Filled well with those who came to be assessed. 

There were the bearded patriarchs from the hills 
Beyond where Jordan its low music trills ; 

Young maidens in their beauty darkly fair ; 
The aged, and the newly wedded pair. 

The soft eyes of the wondering children gazed 
On stolid camels, pleased or half-amazed ; 

And peasants — simple for the lives they led — • 
Watched how King Herod's soldiers kept their tread, 

And thought, perhaps, of other cycles when 
Judea had her strong, courageous men. 

Beyond the city limits sunshine spread 
About each lonely peak a hood of red, 



THE STARS. 

And round their rugged base, footpathed and brown, 
The gathering shadows wove a somber gown. 

From where the flocks browsed in their far retreat, 
Came some rude shepherd's anthem, tender-sweet, 

While pleasing as where toppling censers spill. 
Arose the fragrance of the yellow dill. 

At last the twilight ; then the darkness ; then 
The star that told the Saviour's birth to men. 

II. 
A later day now flushed Judea's land ; 
But while the dawn shone bright from strand to strand, 

Men's hearts were sore, believing Death had won 
A victory o'er the Lord's anointed One. 

Fair lay the barley fields ; the cumin bloomed ; 
Far-off the cross on bald Golgotha loomed ; 

The camels with their bearded riders strode 
With swinging gait along the dusty road ; 

The almond blossoms, as a pictured psalm, 

Vv'ere blended with the foliage of the palm ; 

120 



THE STARS, 

The voice of children sounded on the ear 
As soft as hymns from a diviner sphere ; 

Mailed sentinels stood drowsing by the gates, 
Grim as the minions of the frowning Fates. 

Bnt suddenly the world was thrilled, and far 
A halo mantled vale and mountain scar ; 

An Unseen Hand reached through the morning's stir, 
Unv/inding graveclothes in the sepulcher ; 

And from tlie opened tomb tliere came to sight 
The deathless Harbinger of Hope and Light ; 

And ''Christ is risen !" h^/mned the choir divine, 
As rose the Star that shall forever shine I 



121 



A LULLABY. 

SWEET an' low, sof an' low, 
An' sweetly as de rivah's flow, 
We heahs de music cross de sea 
Whah spreads de Ian' ob Is-ter-Be. 
An' sweet an' low, an' sof an' low, 
De baby's teensy footfalls go ; 
But bimeby he's gwine be at peace 
Whah roses spring an' lilies blow. 

De music comes f'oni hahps ob gol*, 
Tetched by de fingers nevah cle, 
An' Gawd leans down, leans down to heah 
De strains dat's floatin' to His eali. 
An' sweet an' low, an' sof an' low, 
De baby's teensy footfalls go ; 
But bimeby he's gwine be at peace 
Whah roses spring an' lilies blow. 



122 



NIGHT IN THE CITY. 

THE shadows of night-time grope 
From dens somewhere in the skies ; 
The eyes of the city ope 

And look on night in surprise, 
Storing with batless glare from the mortared monsters 
there. 

Far off— giant glowworms— crawl 
The cars through the restless marts ; 

The chimes from the churches fall 
Like hammers on felons' hearts ; 
While a moment side by side a harlot and virgin glide. 

At last, as the hours grow late, 

The servants of slumber creep ; 
Then stalketh Sin in his hate 

Where the pure and innocent sleep : 
Has God placed on doorposts there a signet that crime 
must spare? 



«^3 



UNC CESAR'S PHILOSOPHY. 

UNC C^SAR made money an' frien's an' sich like, 
Though he nevah made effort to be no big Ike ; 
An' I axed how to prospah lak' him, when de frown 
Ob bad luck seemed hovahrin' always aroun' ; 
An' he ses, wid a smile an' a voice m.onst'ous strong : 
"Hoi' a stiff uppah lip an' dess go right erlong." 

A niggah's expression, an' it's homely, you'll say, 
But it's troof widout furbelo's an' sich, anyway. 
It means grit an' melt, an' a will foh to do. 
An' a heaht dat don't shirk at nO' small bugaboo ! 
It's a mighty good sayin', ef coa'se, foh a song: 
"Hoi' a stiff uppah lip an' dess go right erlong!" 



124 



LEN. 

(A Memory.) 

WE knew him by the name of Len, 
And none could tell precisely when 
His surname was the last time called 
Within the village, mountain-walled, 
And sleeping like a hound at ease 
Beneath blue skies and locust trees. 
He truant played at ev'ry school, 
And "You will live your days a fool," 
His father said when naught could make 
The son the narrow pathway take. 
The years went by, and while there died 
Full many through the country side, 
He seemed to linger year by year. 

Men said the fellow v/as so low 
That Death just gave to him a sneer, 

And, passing by, would let him go ! 

He saw the homestead going down 

That once enhanced the little town ; 
125 



LEN. 

The hollyhocks his mother loved — 

He saw them choked by alien weeds ; 
The orchard path which he had roved 

Grew noisome with the swaying reeds ; 
The catbirds, which had loved to sing 
In many a dead and vanished spring, 
Seemed now disposed the place to shun 
Where lizards loitered in the sun ; 
The nightshade twined about the door, 

Where oft his mother sat and sung, 
When love for him was strong as pure, 

And hope some rays about him flung; 
The spiders hung their nets around ; 

Across the bare floor hopped the toad ; 
And what seemed once as holy ground, 

Was desolation's own abode. 

If Len e'er noticed this, I think 

No sigh would melt and run in tears. 

He drank when men would give him drink, 
Nor rendered heed to passing years. 

But somehow all the children seemed 

To love him, and their wee eyes beamed 
126 



LEN. 

With childish glee when he would romp 
With them at twilight as the pomp 
Of spring or summertime made sweet 
With fragrant bloom.s the village street. 
He lived within an alley dark, 

And there one winter night I passed. 
Far off, the watchdog's lonely bark ; 

Above, the skies with clouds o'ercast ; 
And as I paused beside his door, 
I saw him sitting, bending o'er 
The brushwood fire, whose timid glow 
Sent shadows dancing to and fro. 
His face was resting on his hand, 
His hair uncombed and straggling, and 
He hummed a few words of a strain — 
Hummed and rehummed them o'er again 

"Clasped to your heart 

In a loving embrace, 

With your light lashes 

Just sweeping your face, 

Never hereafter 
127 



LEN. 

To wake or to weep — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, 
Rock me to sleep !" 

That night the greatest snowstorm known 

Came whitely shrouding field and fen, 
And winds rushed by with fearful moan 

And startled every hill and glen ; 
And, late, I heard a cry of fright 

From one whose six-year lad was lost. 
He'd tried to cross the street that night 

While homeward bound, but soon was tossed 
A victim to the storm fiend's will. 
Which boded for all creatures ill ! 

We searched the village everywhere ; 

Then, giving up in our despair. 

We turned our footsteps home once more, 

When faintly through the gusty roar 

We heard a low and wailing sound ; 

And thus the lad — and Len — were found ! 

The boy was safe, and round him thrown 

The tattered coat that Len had doffed ; 
128 



LEN. 

But from the man the breath had flown — 
*'The wreck" that we had often scoffed ; 
He'd heard the httle wand'rer's cry, 
And, for his sake, went out to die. 

Who knows but this old world is less 

Borne down with woe and bitterness 

For those whose lives to our eyes seem 

Unworthy even faint esteem ? 

So there were many tears shed when 

The poor old form was hid from men ; 

And somehow we all like to say 

That one who loved the children so. 
Was bound some noble traits to know — 

And Christ, . . . perhaps He thinks that way. 



A DISAPPOINTED FELLOW. 

OF course I'm sour — I've a right to be ; 
How much has been denied me in tliis world ! 
In the first place, I did not get to see 

Fair Eden and the streams that therein swirled. 

I'm truly sorry that I never viewed 

Queen Cleopatra in her perfect flower ; 

Nor sat with Homer when in pleasant mood, 
And heard him chatting for, say, one brief hour. 

I might have gained an autograph from Paul, 
Made pictures of young Saul and David each ; 

Or maybe heard Mark Antony when the fall 
Of Caesar roused that big spread-eagle speech. 

I might have seen St. John when tempest tossed, 
Or he?.rd from living lips sweet Sappho's lays ; 

And then — but, brooding over what I've lost, 
I'm sure I shall go sighing all my days ! 



i^o 



THE SYMBOL STARS. 

I STOOD on a peak where the starlight 
Shone as signals away and away, . . . 
Till each far light failed, and each far light 
Disappeared in the dazzle of day. 

And I thought while I tarried dumb there — 
As the stars are but lost in the light. 

In the glorious glare of God's Somewhere 
live our loved that are hidden irom sight, 



131 



JUSTICE. 

THE sweetest warbler he is called— 
The mockbird of our sylvan ways ; 
And yet he borrows all his strains 

From birds whose notes we rarely praise. 

And many a song by masters sung, 
Whose strength and music we revere, 

Was first suggested by some one 

Whose minor notes men failed to hear. 



133 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

SOME may praise the lines of Milton, some conceits 
of Keats recall, 
But I love the human feeling that from Riley's lyre 
rings ; 
And the "poet of the cornfields" will one day be 
crowned by all 
As the master God inspired to make us love — the 
lowlier things. 



133 



QUATRAINS. 
Spring. 

The year is but a volume God has penned 
Whose lays the passing season's breezes sing; 

Its sweetest thoughts, from opening to the end, 
Are the first blossoms of the poem, Spring. 

Friends. 

Though we are worn and weary from some loss, 
Yet on life's journey many friends there be — 

The Simons who assist to bear the cross 
Along the stony road to Calvary. 

The Children. 

God help us prize the little ones we have, 
And realize in time our blessing's worth ; 

For every passing moment is a wave 

That bears them farther from our arms and hearth. 
^34 



quatrains. 

Assistance. 

A near-by oak, uprooted by the storins, 

Yet leans upon an elm, and leaves and seeds ; 

As some ruined life, upheld by kindly arms, 
Is spared to bloom awhile in noble deeds. 

Sunset. 

Flushed as from racing over vales and streams, 
He disappears as though from light and life ; 

The sun before the moon a Joseph seems 
Who flees from Potiphar's enamored wife. 



135 



THE CAUSE OF CUBA. 

(1896.) 
I. 

THE Cubans will yet be beaten? Their cause can 
never be won ? 
But Right will never stay beaten, and its hopes will 
broaden, I ween ; 
For out in the limitless future, as plain as the conquer- 
less sun, 
The spirit of Freedom rests couchant — unawed, un- 
frightened, serene ! 

II. 

Xerxes with chains on the sea, and his lackeys there 
with their knouts — 
Tyrannous, purpled and proud as he sits on his 
throne on the shore ; 
While with only a heave of the breast, as it tosses gray 
mane and shouts, 
His 'Victim" can scatter his fleet and shatter a thou- 
sand more ! 

136 



THE CAUSE OF CUEA. 
III. 

And lives there a regent to-day whom cruelty's vices al- 
lure, 
Who thinks that in this God's age of yearning and 
manhood brave, 
He can shackle a people for aye and they will the chains 
endure? 
They will rise in their might and strike till they've 
driven him to his grave ! 

IV. 
Warm as the current that flows with the Mexic gulf's 
warm stream, 
And clear as the rivulets were that murmured 
through Eden's ways, 
There runneth a deathless purpose, which, beautiful as 
a dream. 
Will drown cold Tyranny's hordes and Tyranny's 
strongholds raze ! 

V. 

The Cubans will yet be beaten ? Their cause can never 
be won? 

137 



THE CAUSE OF CUBA. 

But Right will never stay beaten, and its hopes will 
broaden, I ween ; 
For out in the limitless future, as plain as the conquer- 
less sun, 
The spirit of Freedom rests couchant — unawed, un- 
frightened, serene ! 



138 



A HOPE. 

IXy'HAT man v/ill say : ''He sought me in the strife, 
▼ V And bathed my wounds when men deserted 
me?" 
What heart have I made Hghter in my life, 

Though God knows I have loved humanity? 
And yet this hope still lightens much of pain — 
Who hath endeavored hath not lived in vain ! 



139 



PARTING. 

WHERE the white road the mountain's coarse 
hair parted, 
Spilled nectar, but a moment sunshine flowed ; 
The whippoorwills their night-long chansons started, 
And on the sky cloud tents of Bedouins glowed. 

Two stood beside the farmhouse gate — a maiden. 
And he who there with Hope's misguiding eyes 

Saw fame ahead, as some child legend laden 
Believes beyond the rainbow treasure lies. 

They stood a moment there, while the insistent 
Drone of the insects welled up mellowly; 

And then two paths, that ever grew more distant. 
Were blazed out by the murmured word "Good-by." 



140 



BEYOND RECALL. 

SUNBEAMS love to shimmer 
'Mong the summer ways, 
But to my eyes dimmer 

Are the golden rays. 
Hope's fair hands are folden, 

Love is sleeping low 
In the olden, golden 
Days of Long Ago. 

Matters not the falling 

Of your bitter tears ; 
To my heart are calling 

Yearnings through the years — 
Voices ere were folden 

Hands so fair to me 

Li the golden, olden 

Days of Use-to-Be. 
141 



BEYOND RECALL. 

Maybe had your bosom 

Learned with truth to thrill, 
Sweets of bud and blossom 

Had existed still ; 
Hands had not been folden, 

Love not sleeping low 
In the olden, golden 

Days of Long Ago. 

I've the vine's defection, 

You the fruitless tree : 
Mine the recollection, 

Yours the memory : 
And, for both, hands folden 

That were fair to see, 
In the golden, olden 

Days of Used-to-Be. 



142 



ANTIPODES. 
I. 

A MOTHER'S eyes and a trusting child- 
A babe in its innocence given ; 
And Christ might say with his manner mild 
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven." 

II. 

A siren's voice and a youth's weak will, 
And vice that all manhood effaces ; 

Then over the gulf in her kisses' thrill, 
And to hell in a woman's embraces ! 



143 



REMORSE. 

ALONE in her room with the pitiless foe 
Of thought that never will sleep, it seems- 
Whispering hints of the long ago 
And the dear dead dreams ! 

The clock ticks on as it has for an age ; 

Her Herrick is oped on the etagere ; 
And the whole place seems but a poet's page 

In praise of her. 

Her portrait. is looking down from the wall — 
Her eyes aglow with the pure sweet light, 

As the stargleams over the pathway fall 
Of a man at night. . . . 

You have your revenge at last, at last, 
O sweet lost love of the old lost years ! 

For joy is a wreck in the sea of the past, 
And submerged in tears ! 



144 



HAGAR. 
I. 

HAR.D by the fountain in the way to Shur 
Hagar the outcast tarried in her woe. 
The breeze was sullen — no refreshing stir 
Arose among the leaves ; the sun's hot glow 
Fell scorching over hill and valley low ; 
Like fallen women drooped the wayside flowers, 

Worn out by their depleting passion's flow ; 
And slowly, slowly passed the hot-breathed hours, 
As though old Joshua were near to test his powers ! 

II. 

A swarthy beauty shone about her face, 

Such as still clings around the rose that's thrown 
Downward from where awhile 'twas wont to grace 

Some maiden's pure and palpitating zone. 

The way that led from Kadesh was how lone, 
As though there Silence stalked with muffled feet. 

Save once a bird (a fleck of cadence blown 
From some fair tropic clime, divinely sweet) 
Let melt its melody to charm the weird retreat. 
lo 145 



HAGAR. 
III. 

"O, but to die!" she thought, while far above 

A vulture, like a bark on Galilee, 
Poised dark and seeming moveless. "Dreaming of 

The being that I was and now must be. 

Eats out my helpless heart ! . Lord, pity me !" 
And ere her prayers had ceased there came a sound 

Of rustling pinions, making cadency ; 

The while an angel's fingers healed the wound 

That ached within her heart, and heaven beamed 

around. 

IV. 

The centuries have passed since those far days, 
And time has grayer grown ; the cold white moon 

Still casts her polished lances down the ways 
As in the nights gone by ; the almonds swoon 
Along the roadways, and the bulbuls croon ; 

AVhile Hagar's dust is lost, or watched by none 
Save God who loved her. But, athrill, atune, 

Still ring those musicked glances that outshone 

From God's eyes When he heard a helpless outcast's 

moan! 

146 



DOWN ON THE FARM— A MEDLEY. 

PROEM. 

SOME gleams of sunshine in rhyme's thrall, 
Some hints of old ways meshed in song — 
These all I bring, my little all, 

To catch the notice of the throng. 

How trivial and how tame ! And still — 
Though all of grace and art I lack — 

Some unforgetting heart may thrill 
To have them even thus brought back. 

I. 

At times 'tis all monotonous, you too are prone to say? 
The same old hills in sun and shade, the same folks 

day by day? 
And you are almost led to think the very whippoorwill 
I heard when but a youngster calls from out the thicket 

still? . . . 
God made the country; man, the town — a worn-out 

song again ! 

But then I've tried them both, and would not modify 

the strain. 

147 



DOWN OX THE FARM. 
11. 

A stroll up the road, on the still spring days, 
That winds with the creek through the pastoral ways ! 
The kingfisher, stretching its blue neck, flies 
Through interlaced shadows with startled cries; 
In the rail fence corners the wild rose gleams 
Pink as old loves' lips come back in our dreams ; 
On the sloping hillsides cattle drowsily laze; 
And we think of ''still waters" 

In the Land that is fadeless 
On still spring days. 

God is loving the world when he sends spring days 
By the sun-catching streams — to the emerald ways! 
The smell of the hay from the meadow comes in ; 
Mellowed to song blade and whetrock's din ; 
The miracle of fishes and loaves is outdone 
In this feast for the senses of every one ; 
And I think, when my soul from its tenement strays, 
'Twill long to pass hereward 

On its outbound journey 

On still spring days. 

148 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 
III. 

The hours in the deep summer ways 
Go to sleep in a bed of blooms ; 
While Faith like a David looms 
O'er the prostrate form of Doubt, and your spirit lifts 
up its praise. 

Regret, as a sad dream flees 

When the morning's eyes ope wide, 
Floats out on a passing tide 
Till faint as the hint of a sail far out on the twilight 
seas. 

The scents from the forestside drift 
Serenely to you, as a gift 
In a chalice of tropical winds blown onward and on 
and on ; 

While you feel in the roses' smell 
Lie mummies of dreams that tell 
Of the hopes that were sweet and dear in the dear 
sweet years long gone. 

Except for the dissonant cries 

Of the jay on the sun-loved hill — 
149 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

Rustling the silence as sighs 
Of a nun vibrating her veil in her love for a lost love 
still— 
There's peace in the runnel clear, 
And rest with contented herds ; 
Yea, joy in the flutter of birds ; 
And you know in the reigning peace and the beauty 
the Lord is nearl 

IV. 

I think when God looks downward on the autumn 

scenes unfurled 
He feels fresh satisfaction in the beauty of His world! 
True, flower scents are scarcer than in leafy days of 

June, 
And bird-songs are more plaintive than some summer 

afternoon ; 
There's something In the quiet, though, as sweet as 

sweetest rhymes — 
The Still Small Voice is nearer then than at all other 

times. 
The crickets, like wee carriers that whistle where 

they go, 

^5^ 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

Bring tender little messages from those we used to 

know ; 
We journey through the gate unlatched by Fancy's 

servitor, 
To where we had our sweetest dreams and where the 

old friends are, 
And halfway wish that life had passed with all our 

boyish dreams. 
When ripened nuts are falling with a spatter in the 

streams. 

V. 

On winter nights we learn the truth, when by the five 
alone, 

That day thoughts are not such as those that come 
when day is flown. 

The clock's tick on the mantelpiece may be the only 
voice 

No\v left to call to mind the tones that made us once 
rejoice, 

And features so familiar then, and smiles that we re- 
call. 

Are passed away or live alone in pictures on the wall. 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

VI. 

And over at the graveyard, where my little firstborn 

lies — 
He'd be well grown and manly now — the mockbird's 

warblings rise. 
'Tis strange none talk about him when the catbird 

pipes at dawn, 
For still he's with me all the time, as in the decades 

gone. 
I wish that I could look on him just like he used to be, 
A chubby Httle fellow still and toddling after me ; 
I wish that 1 could hear him once yet shouting at his 

play 
As ere the angels, coming down, decoyed my boy 

away. 
At nights when he grew weary he would climb upon 

my knees, 
And, nestling cheek against my cheek, plead : "Yist 

one stowey, p'ease !" 
Although it seems but childish to recall such little 

things, 
His prattle, innocent and dear, in recollection rings. 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

So many things go out of life that we had learned to 
prize, 

And leave an ashen heap alone to mark Time's sacri- 
fice ; 

But saddest is the passing of the baby words that die 

With childhood and are heard no more save in the 
memory. 

Friends' comfortings can warm no more than star- 
fires in the night ; 

Philosophy's a feeble thing when Grief leaps up in 
might ! 

But clearer than the voice of youth, ere youth be over- 
past. 

The song his mother used to sing of peace that comes 
at last : 

VII. 
"Far out through the mists of the Now, in the lily- 
loved region of Th^n, 

Are the hills of One of these Days ; 
Tlie lights and the shadows lie soft as sleep in the 
overworked eyes of men, 

On the hills of One of these Days. 
153 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

The noon is as deathless as truth and love; unheard 

is the sound of no more; 
The music of lutes rings hopefully out, responding to 

Joy's encore, 
Now full on the ears entranced, now faint on the 
tropical shore, 

And the hills of One of these Days, 
The hills of One of these Days. 

God fashioned them out of the loss of the pleasures 
of Paradise — ■ 

The hills of One of these Days — 
To gladden the spirit that tires of the world with its 
tears and its tearful good-bys, 

The hills of One of these Days. 
O, fresh as the smile of a friend, when the patience of 

hearts seems vain; 
As bright as a steadfast splendor aglow in the midst 

of the rain ; 
And dear as the eyes we have loved, come back in a 
dream again, 

Are the hills of One of these Days, 
The hills of One of these Days !" 
154 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 
VIII. 

But hold! . . . The ruraHte, you know, is not 

obhged to sit 
In solitude and never note men's wisdom and their 

wit. 
I've marked lines in my Shakespeare, and I dote on 

Milton, too; 
Preserve my Homer from the dust, keep Dante bright 

and new, 
To be prepared should some guest speak about the 

poets old, 
Who hid in many-worded quartz their grains of pre- 
cious gold! 
Let me confess — when fain to spend an hour from 

worldly smart, 
Like Longfellow then I seek some one whose songs 

gushed from his heart. 

yes; I like my Shakespea're much, and Milton's 

lines, indeed; 

1 keep great poems but to praise, the minor ones to 

read! . . . 
But poetry is giving way to the Commercial Age, 

155 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

And sentiment will be no more our cherished heritage ? 

Well, Mammon is a selfish king, oppressing where he 
may, 

But God's curse follows him — the heart will yet dis- 
pute his sway! 

IX. 

Mammon's forces for a while may drive the patient 
sons of men. 

Laugh to scorn the social prophet with a future-prob- 
ing ken; 

But the masses, turned to vassals by the Pharaohs on 
the throne. 

Finding that their tasks are doubled should they miur- 
mur or make moan, 

Will yet prove the past has really settled one eternal 
truth : 

That the power that sows oppression in the end must 
garner ruth! 

Anarchy? Let that be throttled ! Liberty? Let that 
be hailed 

>56 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

As the friend of law and progress, unimpeached and 

unassailed! 
But the Czar is not a despot that we have the most 

to fear; 
Mammon hath the eyes that see not and the ears that 

will not hear; 
And old sentiment, long-suffering, knows that it is not 

decreed 
That those made in Deity's likeness must forever bow 

to greed! 

When the masses rise like Samson, trying if their 

strength be shorn ; 
Feeling through their pulses quiver the fresh energy 

of morn ; 
Brooding on the wrongs of ages, trembling in their 

new-roused hate ; 
Fiercer for the wakened devil rushing through the 

patience gate — ■ 
What shall be the end, O dreamer? What disasters 

dire will swarm 
When the thongs that bound fall broken and the 

masses hft their arm ? 

157 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

X. 

But pessimism is a plant whose blossom is distress ; 
Be mine to make hope more and more, and doubt for- 
ever less. 
By looking we may see a rose : and, listening, hear a 

song; 
So let us trust the good in man may linger with us 

long. . . . 
With thoughts that love best other days, and but a 

fossil now, 
Few care, I think, when death may place his signet on 

my brow. 
And yet I trust the time will be, when called on to 

depart. 
While memories, as flowers in bloom, are fresh within 

my heart. 



XI. 

Out from the earthly harbor how soon will the go- 
ing be? 

Will the sunbeams' play on the waters enjewel the 
smiling sea? 

158 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

Will the moments be woeful or pleasant, will the voy- 
age be gloomy or gay, 

On a course where the ship prows ever are headed the 
other way? 

Shall we pass by the isles that are fragrant with flowers 
of a tropical clime. 

Our bark with the blue waves moving as sweetly as 
rhyme with rhyme? 

Out from the earthly harbor what time will the ship 

set sail? 
Will the nights be formed of the shadows from wings 

of an endless gale? 
Shall we crouch in our berths in silence while away 

on the desolate waste 
Lost shallops go floundering helmless in a gloom that 

shall not be effaced ? 
Shall we pass near the mystical star lands where those 

of the other spheres 
May shout in an unknown jargon their queries within 

our ears? 



59 



DOWN ON THE FARM. 

Out from the earthly harbor shall we drift in the by 

and by, 
Unnoticed the clinging of loved ones, unheeded the 

kiss and the sigh. 
But the compass of faith will avail us, and the prayers 

that we have prayed 
Will twinkle as lights in the distance, illuming the 

heaviest shade; 
And instead of the bell buoys sounding a warning of 

ambushed harm, 
We will hear, "It is I," from the Saviour, as He called 

once before through the storm! 



1 60 



